


You Just Might Find

by Catchclaw



Series: We Can Make The World Stop [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel examines how intoxication in all its forms can improve an angel’s insight into human affairs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Just Might Find

You must know that humans spend a great deal of their time resisting. They defy the will of others, even resist their own by taking refuge in vice or sin or fear.

To fight, to argue, to refuse: this is their nature. It is the way that they were made. The way our father wished for them to be.

Remember, in His eyes, they are our equals. He loves them the same as he does us. Not one above the other.

That said: Do not let them give you orders. Their wants are not superior to our own. Nor is their knowledge.

Sometimes, we know better than they do. Even when we are intoxicated.

Perhaps especially then.

We were in the Hudson Valley, in a dying town cut into the rock. It had once been prosperous--the shells of the factories downtown, the advertisements fading on the sides of crumbling buildings made this clear.

We passed a school of some sort--a "community college," Dean called it, sounding a little wistful--and there was life, there. Hundreds of young people streaming around the sidewalks, cutting in front of the car--"Use the damn crosswalk!" he yelled, bumping the horn--all of them working hard, so hard, to get out of this place.

The future and the past, side by side, the present lost somewhere in the middle.

He chose an odd-looking establishment for his repast, a building on the side of a narrow road, gaudy with bright colors and stained glass. A cactus near the door.

I do not need to eat, of course, but I do not mind sitting with him, talking to him, watching him while he does. But still.

"Dean," I said, squinting at the menu in the dim light. "They do not serve cheeseburgers here."

"Uh, no," he said. "Not at a Mexican restaurant."

"But--" I looked up at him. "What will you eat?"

He grinned, slapped his menu on the table. "Have you ever had a burrito, Cas?"

I blanched. "I have no desire to consume a small donkey, Dean."

He hooted. "No--no, no, nothing like--" He saw my face, waved his hands in defeat. "Never mind. Never mind, dude. You can have a bite of mine."

My face twisted and he laughed again. "Just shut up and drink your margarita. It's starting to melt."

I poked at the frozen slush that he had ordered for me with much hilarity. "Why is it so---yellow?"

He laughed. "That's just the sugar water they use to make you forget you're drinking tequila."

I wrinkled my nose and poked at the yellow ice with a straw. "That sounds---unpleasant."

He grinned. "Dude, you can't get drunk, right? So just drink it. It creeps me out when you just sit there and stare at me while I eat." I frowned. "C'mon," he said, dropping his voice, breaking out a smile he gave only to me. "You'll like the taste, I think."

And his eyes said: _I know you better than you know yourself_.

I gave in and took a drink. It was--not quite as terrible as its color would suggest.

The waiter came by and Dean recited a long series of food choices, all of which sounded most--unfortunate.

I watched him. Took another sip and ended up with a mouthful of salt. Another. It was cool and sweet on my tongue. Pleasant.

He turned back to me, beaming, and picked up his beer. "This. Is going to be awesome," he said, dancing a little in his chair. "I have not had decent Mexican food in so long, seriously--"

His electronic device came to life. Rather loudly.

I winced and hid my face in my glass. In my ridiculously oversized and confusingly-shaped glass.

Dean picked it up. "Hi," he said, and his voice told me it was Sam. "Ok, hold on--let me--" He stood up and pointed towards the front door. I nodded. Watched him go.

He was gone for a long time. His food arrived, covered the table in green and red heat. Cooled.

I finished my yellow thing and ordered another. That one was pink. Not as good. And another. Back to yellow.

Then he appeared out of nowhere; one minute, my drink and I were alone, and the next, he was back in his chair. Staring at me.

"Cas," he said after a minute. Open mouthed. Very amused. "What in the hell?"

"Dean," I said, and here I know I was very friendly. "What in the hell with you?"

He burst out laughing, the kind of sound that filled the whole room. The people sitting behind us turned around. The little girl with them, she smiled at me. At Dean.

I grinned into his face.

"I thought angels couldn't get drunk!" he managed after a minute, wiping water from his eyes.

"Who told you that?" I asked. Puzzled.

"You did!"

"Oh." Perhaps I had. "Well. I oversimplified. It."

He raised his eyebrows. "Wow, ya think, Cas? With you sittin' here drunk off your ass and all?" He was pretending to be angry--growling--but he was smiling at the same time. Which was. Nice.

I leaned towards him, my chin jammed into my palm, elbow digging into the table. Smiling. "Hmmm. Is really this a good place to talk about my ass?"

He snorted and tipped forward to meet me. Moved his glass out of the way before I could spill it. Tapped my face with his fingers.

"You don't do things halfway, do you?" he said, grinning back.

"Nooope," I said, shaking my head. "Not even you, Dean."

He titled his head, confused. Then his eyes lit up. Laughed. "You do realize that made no sense."

"Hmmm?"

His mouth curled. "You suck at innuendo, Cas."

"That's not the only I suck at!" I said, giggling. I was. Hilarious.

He rolled his eyes. "Dude, you're just provin' my point here," he said with his mouth full. Worked his way through something green.

"Dean," I said, leaning towards him again.

"What?"

I forgot what I was going to say. So I laughed.

He covered his eyes with his hand. Tried to hide his smile. "You are so fucking wasted," he said, reaching for another plate.

"Yeah," I repeated. "I am. Fucking wasted."

The little girl behind us turned around again. I waved to her. Dean followed my gaze, then rocked up and smacked my hand.

"Dude, leave her alone."

"'M not botherin' her, Dee," I said, leaning over so I could see around him. "Just bein' friendly. Children looove angels." She was looking right at me as I said this, which. Proved my point.

"Ok, see, no," Dean said, grabbing my wrist. "See, on earth, weird dude in a trenchcoat equals pedophile, not angel."

"Wha--?" I said, covering his fingers with mine. Smiling, because. Dean is beautiful. Especially.

He squeezed my wrist and let go, pulled his hand away. "Okay, sunshine," he said, reaching for his wallet. "It's time to blow this popsicle stand. Before Chris Hanson shows up."

"Ah," I nodded, tugging the last of the slush from my drink. "Dreamsicles."

"What? Oh, come on, Cas, stop trying to tongue fuck the glass!" he said, a little too loudly, I guess, because the man behind us cleared his throat. Like really loud. And the little girl turned around again. Which. I smiled. Licked the last of the salt from my lips. Huh.

And Dean was up and under my arm and we were out the door before I could figure out why this made the man behind us so red in the face.

It was raining just a little. Enough to get my face wet on the way to the car. That was pleasant. I was warm.

"Dean," I said as he pushed me into the front seat. "I am warm."

He slammed the door, didn't respond until he was behind the wheel.

"Try taking off the coat, sport," he said. Shook his head at me or near me or both. He was. Blurry.

We started moving and I yanked off my coat. Tried to.

"Unbutton it first!" Dean barked.

That helped. Off. I got it off, threw into the backseat.

"Yes," I said, nodding. Along in time to the music on the radio. In my ears. "I am not as warm now."

He looked over at me and laughed.

"Dean. What is funny?" I asked, laughing with him because he was. Funny.

"You. You look like you arm wrestled a bottle of tequila. And the tequila won."

"The drinks," I mused, dragging my fingers along the window. It was cold. "Drinks were good. Dean."

He looked at me again and he was happy. Saw affection in his eyes. All four of them.

"Remind me never to take you to Mexico. Or Texas. Or hell, even Chi Chi's is off limits at this point."

"What is the what?" I said, reaching for the radio. Made it louder. "Mmmm."

"You a Bon Jovi fan now?" he asked. Which. No idea.

I was humming, notes moving around my lips which were still salty. Medicine, the radio said. Medicine that was bad. And--love?

"Dean," I said. Confused. "Love that is bad? And medicine? What kind of? A doctor?"

The wipers were beautiful. They did not understand the song either.

Dean just sang the song. And I smiled at him and. Nice to hear him say love near me. Not to me. Which. Did not want to think about.

So driving. We were driving. Headed back to motel. Maybe?

I was warm again. Pulled off tie and dropped it. Rolled down the window and got my face wet again.

Dean said something but the rain was nicer. Ignored him.

His hand on my shirt and my face was back in the car. He shook me.

"C'mon, quit it. You're not a golden retriever," he said. A little pissed. Still holding my arm.

I looked at him. Swimming in the streetlights and the dark.

"Love you," I said. "Dean."

He squeezed my arm. Hit me on the head. "Yeah, yeah, dumbass," he said. Not looking at me. Which. I did not like.

"Dean," I said again. Louder. Snapped the music off. Used my angel of the lord voice.

He did not like that. "Stop it," he said. Growling. But not amused.

"DEAN," I repeated. Angel of lord voice! Angry. For some reason.

"CASTIEL," he bellowed. "I am not fighting with you in the car! When it's raining. When you are this fucked up. Now shut up and sit still until we get back to the room."

I blinked.

Sat back. Not happy.

Rest of the driving was quiet. Wipers ignored me, too.

In the parking lot, the rain was not so nice. Cold.

Fell ahead of him through the door. Coat? Somewhere. Not here.

Shoved him. Tried to. But missed.

Grabbed my arms.

"Cas," he said. Unhappy. Too calm. "Stop it."

"Dean," I said. I snarled. "Fuck off."

Yanked myself away. Angry. But getting sad.

"Goddamn it!" he shouted. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Me?" I said. Showed my teeth. "Fuck is wrong with you?"

He stopped. Stared at me.

"Look," he said, face tight. Angry. "I don't know what the hell your problem is, all of a sudden, other than you being drunk off your ass, but seriously, I am not in the mood for this shit."

Angry. At me.

"Don't wanna fight," I said. Sad. Head hurting.

"Damn it, we're not fighting!" he barked. Loud. Made my ears ring.

I got away. Did not want to be near him if he was yelling. Fell on chair or sofa or something soft and closed my eyes. But he was there, too, behind them. Could not get away.

It was quiet. No more yelling.

He sat next to me. Heavy. Not touching.

"Cas," he said. Heavy. Not touching.

I pushed my face into the soft thing. Ignored him.

His fingers on my neck. Not fair.

"Cas," he said again. My name. Softer. Matched his fingers.

I did not talk. Did not want to say. Anything. His name. I love you. No.

He sighed and sat back. Hand still on my neck.

"You get pissy when you drink," he said. After a while. "Stupid, goofy, and then pissy. Good to know." Making a joke.

I sat up. Not funny. Said so.

His eyes on my face. "What are you even upset about?" Almost gentle.

I.

Loved him. Knew this. But he did not say love back, to me. I--

Said nothing.

He leaned over. Kissed me. Soft. Nice.

I tried to ignore him. His hand on my neck, pulling, made it harder.

His arm around me. Pulling. Me into his lap.

Not fair. But nice.

He tasted like wheat and spice. Salt.

Moved me so I was over him, so that he was between my knees. Held me. Pushed my head down with his hand. Into his. Kissed me, which. I liked. Gave his lips and his tongue to me. Made me give mine back.

Wrapped his arms around my waist. Hard. Didn't let me go.

Which. Good. Didn't want him to. Wanted all of him.

He took his mouth away, made my shirt disappear, then his, then let me kiss him again. Made me.

Not fair. But nice. So good.

Slid my hands over his shoulders. His arms. Back to his face. His neck. All of him at once. I wanted to touch. All.

My head hurt, ached but his hands took it all away. Left only him behind, which. I wanted.

I started to take it from him, what I wanted. All of his mouth. All of his skin that I could touch, dug my fingers into and grabbed everything. Made him listen.

He let me take. He liked it. Told me so.

My name in his voice. Again. And again.

"Cas," he breathed against my lips. Beautiful. Hands on my hips. "Oh, Cas, baby, god, yes--"

I made his voice my own. Stroked his cock, which wanted me. Tried to get to me. I traced it. Trapped it. Would not let him go.

He moaned, lovely and. Sounded scared.

No.

Sounded needy. Desperate.

Good.

I made him take my tongue, made him feel my hand on him. My fingers curled. Pressing.

He cried out and started moving, shoving himself into me. Begging for me to touch him.

Now that was. Intoxicating.

"Cas," he said, somehow. Small high voice. Pleading. "Cas, please, baby, touch me, please--"

He wanted, you see. To be desperate. Broken, a little.

"No," I said, my voice through my teeth. "No, I won't, Dean. Touch you. No."

He wailed in pain in want for me. Hard and hot against my hand. Sloppy and wet against my mouth.

"Please!" he begged. And it made me glad. Made me smile over him. "Please. Castiel! Jesus, please, I can't--"

"No," I said. Angry. Happy. Burning. "No, you can't, Dean. No."

He snapped his head back and forth, fighting but not really. Resisting but really wanting. Me.

"Yes," he cried, forcing himself into my hand. Melting the fabric between. "Oh, fuck, yes, Cas, yes, oh--make me come, baby, make me come like this--"

"No," I said again. Sure. "Oh, no, Dean, no." But kept pushing, kept stroking him. Made him move faster, push harder. Want more.

"Yes!" he screamed. Hurt my ears and it was so good. "Yeah, Cas, yes, oh fuck, baby, like that, please, yeah--"

I leaned down, moving in time with his body. Put my mouth next to his ear so he could hear.

"No," I said. Angel of the lord voice. Love of my life voice. "No. No, Dean."

His hips shoved up, stopped his cock tight against my palm, voice dark and grateful. So grateful. "Oh, oh, Cas, oh, Cas, baby, I--"

And he came, poured himself out on the inside. For me. With my name in his mouth. My tongue.

He looked at me. Eventually. Soft. Different.

Murmured my name, again. Reached for me. Kissed me. Possessed me. Always.

Then he smiled. Big and blue and happy. Smile. Touched my face.

"Hi," he said.

I closed my eyes. Pressed against his hand.

I wanted him. I had him. Later, he would have me. In his mouth or his hands. Make me crazy with both. Take me until I was water. Until I was smoke. Until I was his. Always.

"Castiel," he sighed, pushing his mouth into mine. "Love you."

"Damn straight," I said. Happy. Heard him say love to me.

His phone rang. Buzzed between us.

Grabbed his head in one hand. Did not let him go. Damn phone in the other.

Threw it.

Hit something. Stopped beeping.

He started laughing under my mouth. Made me sit up.

"Mine," I explained to his eyes. Burning into mine. Pushed a hand into his chest. "You--mine for now. Later. He can have you then. Not now."

"Mmmhhmm," he said. Smiling. Pulled me back down. "Later."

What he gave me--it was infinite. Insubstantial. Fragile. Balanced on the edge of a knife that he drove into my heart. It was. Beautiful.

But what I gave him was something greater. I knew what he wanted. What he needed from me. Better than he knew himself.

And I was right.

Sometimes, you must not do what they want. But what they need.


End file.
